#PDXBookBabes

Okay, I’m driving to a restaurant to meet strangers from the internet. Fingers crossed I don’t get murdered.—more or less the text I sent my mom when I went to my book club for the first time.

Four years ago I answered a random call on Instagram for readers in Portland who wanted to meet up for a book club. Meeting up with strangers? On purpose? By myself? This was all very out of character. But something in me called to these women I’d never met before, and I answered, throwing caution to the winds.

Book club now is in a smaller, more intimate iteration than it was that January night in 2018. Right now, we’re three women, and we don’t pick a single book to read each month. Rather the three of us bring whatever we’ve read recently, discuss whatever overlaps we have, press books to each other, exchange borrowed books, and share our lives.

During lockdown in 2020, we started a Marco Polo thread together. Even though we meet only once a month for dinner, we check in with each other several times a week. Amy and Juliann are part of life in such a beautiful way. I’ve laughed with these women, and I’ve cried with them. We talk about marriage and parenting and faith. I trust them, and I’m honored to be a part of their lives.

I love books and stories, not just for what they do for me, but for who they bring into my life. Without stories, I wouldn’t have my friendships with these women. And these women make my life brighter and fuller. Stories will always matter, will always impact everything in the best possible ways.